


Beautiful Broken

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4511484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Severus Snape reads about Harry Potter’s admittance to St Mungo’s he resolves to keep his distance, until a new piece of information pushes Severus into Harry’s path.  A tentative friendship grows, fractured by insecurities, as Severus and Harry learn how to heal scars of the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Broken

When the _Prophet_ reports on the very public breakdown of the hero of the wizarding world, Severus turns to the crossword and makes himself another cup of tea.

It’s another scorching summer, and Severus intends to enjoy a long overdue vacation without troubling himself with memories of the war. The summer months are the only ones which afford Severus peace and quiet to conduct his research without endless interruption. If it’s not students creating a racket, it’s Minerva’s social events which Severus only attends due to the half-decent scotch on offer.

Besides, Potter likely has a cast of thousands mopping his fevered brow and tending to his well-being. Not to mention he has always been quite capable of looking after himself.

It's only idle curiosity which makes Severus return to the _Prophet_ after a day in the garden.

Potter seems shell-shocked and uncertain, the glare from the photographer's flashbulb making him blink and lift his hand to shield his face. The article claims Potter's admission to St Mungo's is voluntary, but he looks uncertain and out of place - as if something lurking in the depths of his mind has risen up and caught him off guard.

He's grown a little since the end of the war, and his eyes are framed with dark shadows. His cheekbones are more prominent than usual and his clothes hang from his slender frame. He's flanked by orange-haired Weasley family members, who push past the photographers until Arthur Weasley's hand covers the lens of the camera and Potter disappears from view.

Severus turns the page to catch Potter's back disappearing into St Mungo's, his slim shoulders tense and resolute. 

Severus drains his brandy and retires for the night, shaking any thoughts of Potter from his mind.

*

An investigative reporter manages to disguise themselves as a Healer and grainy photos of Potter appear in the _Prophet's_ weekend edition.

The violation of Potter's privacy angers Severus, and he clutches the pages in his hands, muttering a curse.

Potter’s gaze is vacant and empty, as if he knows there is something amiss but no longer understands enough magic to do anything about it. A slender white band circles his wrist and his name is highlighted in stark black lettering - a tag to remind those tending to Potter exactly who they have in their care – as if they could forget with the constant stream of reporters camping outside St Mungo’s. 

Meeting Potter’s defeated, confused stare, Severus wonders where his fight has gone. Perhaps it burst from his chest and slid from his wounds when the _Avada Kedavra_ sliced through Potter’s heart and took his life. It burns, _Avada Kedavra_. Severus knows because on occasion he still wakes to the sensation of power flaring through his veins and the memory of Albus crumpling under the green bolt of light. It leaves him giddy, and perspiring and his body hums with magic. He itches to reach for his wand and follow dark paths which will take him deeper into the shadows. Only when his heart rate steadies can he breathe again, the tingling memory of being in control sliding from him and leaving him unable to settle into anything more than a fitful sleep. 

Severus runs his fingers over Potter’s too-thin frame and pauses on the lines of mottled skin which snake in haphazard patterns over Potter’s torso. 

He wonders when the great Harry Potter became little more than shadow, and scars.

*

When Arthur Weasley's bedraggled owl flops through Severus' window on the back of a summer storm, Severus studiously ignores the request for assistance.

Severus doesn’t know how to fix things. He’s usually the one tearing everything apart, putting knife-sharp edges on once smooth surfaces and building a barbed wire barricade around himself. 

He certainly doesn’t know how to fix Harry Potter. 

He pushes the damp parchment to one side and watches as the words bleed into one another.

He values his solitude too much these days to involve himself in the circus that surrounds Potter's tarnished celebrity. Potter has Black money behind him, status and youth which will afford him the very best of care.

Severus pens a curt response, citing a critical moment in his research as a reason for not dropping everything when Potter's entourage asks him to come running.

He is Severus Snape, not a soft-hearted Weasley or an aged wizard with a pocket full of lemon drops.

This is what Severus does.

This is what he's always done.

*

“He's got to get back on his feet soon, we need him at the Ministry.” A harried looking Weasley rakes his hand through his hair, and puts down a full pint of ale next to Granger. “Honestly, Hermione. I don't think they're doing him any good at all. It's just potion after bloody potion and he's--”

“Not Harry anymore,” Granger concludes. She seems tired, her fingers tap tapping on the table and Severus can almost hear her mind whirring. “If only the Professor--”

Weasley snorts with derision and Severus has to curl his fingers into a fist to stop himself from shooting hexes across the room. “Don't know what dad was thinking sending an owl to that greasy git. Research, my arse. He's probably rolling around laughing about Harry being sick.”

“I don't know.” Granger, at least, sounds doubtful and the furious heat rising in Severus' cheeks quells somewhat. “Harry was so determined to see him.”

The unexpected information causes Severus to lean forward in his chair to ensure he doesn't miss a moment. Not once had he considered that Potter himself might have asked to see Severus.

“Dunno why he wants to see Snape, of all people. No wonder everyone thinks he's barmy.”

“Ron!” With a tut, Granger takes Weasley's hand and stands. “Come on, let's go and see Neville. I've been meaning to ask if he knows anything about using mandrake roots for this sort of thing. I read an article in _Magic and Muggle Maladies_ which was fascinating…”

The two move from earshot and Severus orders another glass of wine, pictures of Potter's slim wrists and vacant eyes filling his mind.

*

Severus sends an owl to Arthur, and watches as the bird becomes little more than a dark speck against the clouds.

The stack of papers on his desk are now several inches deep, each new edition filled with more gloomy stories about Potter’s demise. Severus doesn’t know why he keeps them. 

He glances at the sleeping portrait hanging on the wall, garish purple robes out of place next to the muted mahogany furniture and tattered leather bound books.

_Don't tell me now that you've grown to care for the boy?_

Severus flicks his wand to send the papers towards the bin as Dumbledore continues to snooze, his fond smile signifying a pleasant dream.

Severus snorts and points his finger at the sleeping portrait. “Don’t say a word.”

The smile doesn’t falter, and Albus slumbers on.

*

St Mungo’s is quiet at night. Severus uses magic to obtain entrance to the Janus Thickey Ward, a quick _Confundus_ allowing him to slip past the night Healers monitoring the patients. He studies the long corridor, and takes in the clinical scent of the corridors to the left of the ward. The whole area is new – built shortly after the war to provide a mental health service to witches and wizards with none-magical illnesses. Severus gathers his robes around his body and shakes his head. The new building was woefully late for some, but still it was heralded as a significant achievement for Shacklebolt’s administration.

With a huff of irritation, Severus stalks along the polished corridors, taking in the names on the doors. For the most part, they are familiar: students, staff members and people imprisoned at the Manor during the war. Close proximity to the Dark Lord leaves different kinds of scars to _Sectumsempra_ , after all. Perhaps Severus should be here, alongside Potter, weaving baskets and telling stories about clutching dead bodies to his chest to try to make them _breathe_ again.

The shadows stretch along the walls and follow Severus as he makes his way through the dimly lit corridor, increasingly sure this isn’t the best place for Potter to thrive. He knows enough of the experimental and under researched potions trialed by the Healers in these wards to know they will dampen the flames of Potter’s unmistakable fire until there’s nothing left of him.

Eventually, Severus reaches a wooden door, just like all the rest. There’s nothing to distinguish it from the others. No specially selected wood, no gold plated plaque announcing the hero of the wizarding world is in residence. There’s just a quickly penned _H. Potter_ on a creased piece of white parchment. 

Severus pushes open the door, and the curled up form on the bed stretches and turns to the light. Potter’s eyes open, and blink. 

“Is this a dream?” Potter blinks again and rubs his eyes, as if to assure himself Severus is not a hallucination. His fingers push against his scar momentarily, and he looks downcast. “I’ve dreamed about you before.”

Severus lets the unexpected statement pass, and settles into the rickety chair next to Potter’s bed. He flicks the door closed with a wave of his hand and helps himself to a grape. “I am nobody’s dream, Potter. Your nightmare, perhaps.” Severus gives Potter a sufficiently nasty smile because tea and sympathy has never been his strong suit. “I trust you are being treated like a prince, on account of your infamy?”

“Well enough.” Potter's lips twitch and he looks almost happy to be on the receiving end of a stern glare. “I've been a bit...”

“Under the weather,” Severus supplies. “Although if one was inclined to listen to Skeeter they would be forgiven for thinking you are stark, raving mad.”

“Oh.” Potter's hands twist and his smile falters. “They haven't let me see the papers.” His voice dips as if he’s talking about illicit potions use instead of the _Daily Prophet_. “It’s forbidden.”

“That hardly stopped you before,” Severus notes. He’s rewarded with the flicker of a smile. “Besides, I very much doubt even your feeble mind has been addled to the point where you would start to take anything Skeeter says seriously.”

Potter pulls a face. “Bloody Skeeter.”

“Quite.” A smile tugs at Severus’ lips. He twines his hands together in his lap and watches Potter closely. “Arthur believes – for some unknown reason – that you wish to see me.”

“I did.” Confusion flickers over Potter’s face. “I do, I mean. I’m not sure why. I thought you might understand.” He rummages in his drawer and pulls out a piece of crumpled parchments, thrusting it Severus’ direction. “This is what they’re giving me. What do you reckon?”

Severus peruses the list before placing it on the bed. “I think you would be far better exploring alternative remedies. These potions aren’t for you, Potter.”

“Because I’m not mad?” Potter gives Severus a small smile which doesn’t meet his eyes.

“No more than the rest of us.”

*

The world doesn't stop spinning when Severus returns home.

There are no owls from Arthur, no articles in the _Prophet_ about his late night visit to Potter, and no discernible disruption to the solitude of his summer holidays. 

Content, Severus selects a heavy leather tome from his bookshelves and begins to read.

*

Potter's health improves as the long, hot days of summer stretch into autumn. Severus continues to visit at his leisure when nobody else is around, bringing alternative remedies which he spends long hours brewing until the sun rises and the first remnants of dawn creep through the windows of his laboratory

On countless nights, Severus hesitates before making his way to St Mungo’s. The routine has become familiar in a way which unsettles Severus, and he doesn’t want to dwell too closely on why Potter’s improving health churns his stomach and gnaws at his every waking moment.

Severus is quite sure that’s where madness truly lies.

*

“You are quite like your old self,” Severus observes, on a warm autumn night when he settles next to Potter in the now familiar setting.

“Really?” Potter looks delighted and Severus raises his eyes to the ceiling.

“I did not intend for that to be a compliment.”

“I bet you didn’t.” Potter smiles broadly, lighting up the room. “I thought I made you up at first,” he says. His fingers are sticky with chocolate frogs which have melted in the earlier sunshine. He wipes the corner of his mouth with his pyjama cuff and looks younger and more buoyant than ever. “Like a hallucination. Thought I really was going mad. You wouldn't have been the first one of those I've had.”

"No?" Severus hands Potter a tissue and resists the urge to brush a careless streak of chocolate from the corner of Potter’s mouth. 

“I saw all of them, once.” Potter takes the tissue and finally catches the stray chocolate next to his lips. “Sirius, Remus…my dad…even Pettigrew.” His eyebrows knit and his jaw tilts, reminding Severus of the boy who walked into the forest to confront death, face to face. “I wanted to kill him.”

Severus ponders Potter. “Yet Pettigrew remained alive, when you were given a choice.”

“I wouldn’t have _actually_ killed him.” Potter waves his hand. “I wouldn’t kill anybody. I just wanted to. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like, if I had.” Potter unwraps another chocolate bar and thrusts it towards Severus. “I don’t think I’d have liked it much. It’s not the sort of thing you get over, really, and I don’t think anybody really deserves that, no matter what they’ve done. Chocolate?”

The shift in conversation takes Severus by surprise and he can’t resist taking a small square of chocolate, his hands brushing Potter’s sticky fingers and sending a rush of warmth through his body.

“Thank you.”

Potter smiles, and pops another chocolate square into his mouth. “You’re welcome…Severus.”

Because the chocolate is really rather good, Severus decides to let Potter’s impertinence slide.

*

They release Potter on a Sunday, just before the start of a new term at Hogwarts. The last bright skies of summer have been replaced by ominous rain clouds and the first droplets of September rain.

Severus spends the day in the garden, hacking back weeds with violent purpose. The space has been neglected since he started pandering to Potter’s every whim. The night draws in until there is insufficient light to continue, and he makes his way inside. He washes his hands and makes a cheese and ham sandwich which is dry and unappealing. He forgoes his usual evening cup of tea for a healthy measure of whisky, adding a couple of cubes of ice and swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

He paces, perusing his books to try to find one he hasn’t already learned by heart. He flicks through the _Prophet_ , turning quickly from the pictures of Potter waving happily next to Ginny Weasley and completes the crossword in less than thirty minutes. He looks at the small glass bottle on his desk, a potion perfected over many weeks to alleviate nightmares. He scowls at the label. 

_H. Potter_

With a growl, Severus throws the bottle into the bin and sits on his sofa watching the hands of the clock tick past the minutes.

*

A knock on the door startles Severus awake. The embers of the fire are barely keeping the room warm, and the chill of the cool autumn air has settled in the room. Severus stands carefully, his limbs aching from falling asleep on the lumpy sofa.

Clutching his wand, he yanks open the door and prepares to tell his late night intruder to bugger off.

“Evening.” Potter’s hand hovers, mid knock. He shuffles in place and peers around Severus as if he’s trying to see inside the house. “I thought maybe this time I’d visit you.”

Severus folds his arms across his chest and snorts. He stares down his nose, which is harder now Potter is eighteen years of age and meets his gaze nose-to-nose. “ _I_ , however, do not require visitors.”

“I bought scotch. McGonagall said you liked the stuff.” Potter pulls a face and looks doubtfully at the bottle clutched in his hand. “Is it the right one?”

“It will suffice.” Severus steps aside and waves Potter inside. He’s far more interested in the whisky than Potter, he tells himself as he closes the door.

He follows Potter into the living room, where he’s looking curiously at the sleeping portrait of Albus.

“Where did you get this?”

“From Albus.” Severus glares at the picture. “He clearly thought I needed a constant reminder of what passed between us before--”

“Before the end.” Potter’s fingers brush the canvas. “Is he here often?”

“During the holidays. After that, I believe he prefers to go to Hogwarts.” Severus ushers Potter away from the portrait. “Do you intend to stand there gormlessly for the rest of the evening, or are you going to join me for a drink?”

“Do you have ginger beer?” Potter looks enthusiastic and Severus resists the urge to roll his eyes, making a mental note to purchase more ginger beer.

Just in case.

*

“Professor?” Potter’s expression hovers somewhere between hopeful and determined. “I was thinking, perhaps after all of this—”

“We might be _friends_?” Severus arches an eyebrow at Potter. Glee coils in his chest, as he imagines the bright light leaving Potter’s eyes until they are nothing more than dull, moss green. He wonders if he has helped build Potter up only to take pleasure in knocking him down again. “I am not sure what would lead you to believe that you and I could ever be friends. We have nothing in common--”

“That’s not quite true, actually.” Potter is nothing if not damnably persistent, irritating whelp that he is. Severus contemplates Potter, arms folded, barriers raised. Seemingly oblivious, Potter tips his head to the side and begins counting on the fingers of one hand. “There’s the war, there’s the fact we’re both wizards, we both had a difficult childhood—”

“You know nothing of my childhood,” Severus snaps. “Do not presume you know anything about my life, you ignorant—”

“Not friends, then.” Potter holds his hands up in a gesture of defence, and his lips twitch. Far from being threatened or deflated, he appears to be laughing. His voice falters with humour and he clears his throat, sheepish, adopting a formal tone. “Acquaintances?”

Severus harrumphs and shakes his head, giving Potter his best glare.

“I hardly think so.”

“Maybe colleagues then, one day. I’m supposed to be going back to the Ministry but Shacklebolt thinks it might be better if I did something else, for a while. Somewhere familiar.”

Severus gives a sniff of displeasure, the thought of Potter coming to Hogwarts making him feel somewhat unsettled. “If you ever come to teach at Hogwarts, I shall leave. Without notice.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that being around you for any longer than absolutely necessary would be untenable.”

“I see.” Potter looks curious and then he smiles, one of those blasted smiles which stretches from ear to ear and lights up the whole room. “I’m glad you’re alive, you know.”

 _Why_?

But Severus doesn’t give Potter the satisfaction of asking his question out loud. Instead, he purses his lips and pours himself another whisky.

*

Severus doesn’t leave when Potter comes to Hogwarts that autumn, instead of fighting to keep wizarding Britain safe from people like Severus. People who made all the wrong choices.

“I thought you’d have packed your bags by now.” Irrepressibly cheerful, Potter insinuates himself into the chair next to Severus and nudges him as if they’re old familiars. Severus checks to see if the students are watching Potter’s unabashed show of solidarity, but they all seem content to focus on treacle tart and vanilla ice cream.

Potter tucks into an enormous slice of apple pie and continues. “Don’t worry, it’s not a permanent post. We’re just seeing how things go, and besides, Shacklebolt might need me to go back to the Ministry if things go arse up and they need more Aurors on hand.”

Severus grits his teeth. “How marvellous to be so indispensable to so many. To be considered so important, you have your choice of gainful employment. Yet here you are. Bothering _me_.” 

“I still think we should be friends. We could have coffee.” Potter speaks with his mouth full, and tucks into his food like a starving man. 

“I despise coffee.”

“Liar.” Potter smiles around another forkful of food, but, thankfully, doesn’t push.

*

Potter is everywhere. He’s in the papers with irritating frequency, no longer thin and gaunt but bursting with renewed vigour. He’s in the Great Hall every morning, noon and evening. He’s always casting spells in the corridors of Hogwarts or swooping around the Quidditch pitch on his broom, teaching children how to be just as brave as him.

Largely in an effort to stop Potter from getting under his skin, Severus decides to seek a little solitude in the Muggle world on Saturday afternoon. He settles in a small Muggle café and orders a large mug of black coffee, opening his book and looking forward to a little peace and quiet.

“I’d like a chocolate ice cream. The one with sprinkles. Sprinkles are brilliant, aren’t they?”

The familiar voice makes Severus freeze and he mutters a curse under his breath. This was supposed to be his sanctuary. A sanctuary now rudely interrupted by Harry Potter demanding chocolate ice cream. With sprinkles.

“Blimey, it’s warm. Don’t you think it’s warm? Hotter than Spain they reckon, and it’s autumn. Imagine that. It’s at times like this I wish I had a magic wand to cast a cooling charm or something, don’t you?”

Severus bristles, his lips pressing into a thin line as he listens to Potter’s inane babble. The Muggle girl makes him an obnoxiously large ice cream and seems thoroughly charmed. Of course. Everybody is charmed by Potter. Everybody except Severus, that is. He allows himself a self-congratulatory sip of his coffee at a reward for his fortitude.

“I suppose I can just take a seat anywhere?”

“Yeah, help yourself.” The girl hands Potter his ice cream. “Do you want a chocolate flake in that?”

“That’d be _brilliant_.” Potter sounds like he’s just been offered all the gold in the Malfoy vaults, and tucks into his ice cream with an obscene groan of pleasure. Severus shifts in his seat, tempted to let Potter know he has chocolate all around his lips (again) and to question why on earth he can’t order a coffee and scone like the adult he claims to be. But that would mean calling attention to himself, and that’s the last thing Severus wants to do.

“Does he come here a lot?” Potter’s voice dips, and Severus can tell from his tone that he’s smiling.

“Him?” The girl giggles and Severus bites back a snarl, his shoulders tensing. “Never seen him before in my life. It wouldn’t kill him to order a sandwich, or something. I’m not going to make my fortune out of bottomless coffee.” The girl raises her voice a little, and Severus looks up with a glower.

Potter gives Severus a broad smile and winks. He takes another lick of his ice cream and eyes Severus. “Mind if I join you?”

“Yes, I _do_ mind.” Severus closes his book and folds his arms, giving Potter a disdainful look. “I have no desire to get chocolate ice cream all over my book. Not to mention I came to a Muggle café precisely because I do not wish to be disturbed.”

“I’m capable of eating an ice cream, thanks.” Potter sits down regardless and cocks his head to the side to take in the title of the book. “Is it any good?”

Severus growls low in his throat and nods, tightly. “I will let you know when I’m finished reading. Which I cannot do now I have been rudely interrupted.” He leans forward, his voice a low hiss. “What are you doing? _Here_?”

“I’m just buying ice-cream.” Potter punctuates his words with another lick of his treat, sliding his tongue over the tip of the cone to gather some of the melting ice-cream on his tongue. “This place is one of the best.” He nods to Severus’ mug. “I thought you didn’t like coffee.”

“Perhaps I was simply being _polite_.” Severus glares at Potter, who polishes off his messy ice-cream without a care in the world. “I don’t suppose you ever considered my objection might be to something other than coffee?”

Potter snorts. “When are you ever polite?”

Severus gives Potter what he hopes is a nasty smile. “Rarely. Now bugger off.”

“In a minute.” Potter continues eating his ice-cream in contended silence. “I like this place.”

“In that case I will have to find a suitable alternative.” Severus begins to close his book, and Potter reaches out a quick hand.

“Don’t. Not on my account.”

Severus eyes their hands together on the table. Bony hands in slim, tanned ones. Lined skin and the pallor of age against sun-kissed fingers and brazen youth.

“I do not appreciate being disturbed when I am seeking a little peace and quiet.” A little distance, Severus wants to say but doesn’t. He pulls his hand away abruptly and Potter nods his understanding, looking at the sky.

“There’s a storm coming. I doubt there’ll be much call for ice-cream over the next few weeks.”

Severus follows Potter’s gaze to where thick storm clouds slide over the once bright sun.

“You will still require coffee.”

“Ah, plenty of places for that.” Potter gives Severus a quick smile which doesn’t find its way to his eyes. “See you back at school?”

“Not if I can help it,” Severus mutters, returning to his book.

He expects a quick retort and for Potter to order another drink – something with obscene amounts of whipped cream – but when he looks up from his book, Potter is gone.

*

“I think I’m drunk.” Potter’s heavy-handed knocking on the doors to his personal quarters rouses Severus from an unsettled sleep. He pulls open the door and yanks Potter inside by the scruff of his neck in case any of the students begin to start rumours about late-night visits.

“You have no business being here.” Severus pushes Potter away and watches as he stumbles, and clutches onto the sofa for balance. “You have classes to teach tomorrow, do you not?”

“Just the one, not until later.” Potter’s definitely drunk. His words aren’t as crisp and clear as usual and his eyes don’t have the bright spark of life which shimmers and shines with every blinding smile. 

“ _I_ have classes to teach. Early.” Severus flicks his wand and pushes a potion into Potter’s hand. “I advise you find your way back to Gryffindor Tower and take this before sleeping.”

“Don’t really like to sleep.” Potter yawns, despite his words and he drops onto the sofa. “It’s too dark, and cold. Sometimes it feels like I’m still carrying his soul. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

With an irritated curse, Severus rounds on Potter. “You cannot imagine I want you to stay here?”

“No.” Potter’s face crumples into a woeful expression. “Funny how the only person I can stand to be around these days is the only one with no interest in me. Perhaps I really am mental after all.”

Severus grits his teeth and tries not to let himself be swayed by Potter’s hang-dog expression. In the end he flicks his wand again to retrieve a blanket from his room, pushing it into Potter’s hands. “You may stay on the sofa. Take your potion, and be gone by the time I am awake.”

“Thanks.” Potter strokes his fingers over the blanket, and he looks at his knees. His usual bluster and confidence appears to have deserted him. Severus is reminded of long nights at St Mungo’s and Potter’s pale face looking up at him from the too-large bed.

_You won’t leave yet, will you?_

Severus shakes himself and points his finger at Potter. “Pull yourself together.”

Potter pales and looks as if he’s been slapped.

“Yeah,” he says with a whisper.

Severus resists the urge to brush Potter’s messy mop of hair from his face, and closes his mind to all thoughts of Potter with a hard slam of his bedroom door.

Severus has spent too many years in solitude to let somebody in now, when all he desires is a little peace and quiet. 

He tries to fall back to sleep, the image of Potter’s lost expression burned into his mind.

*

There’s a blanket on the sofa in the morning, neatly folded into a careful square. Severus raises it to his face and breathes in, just once.

The still-damp ink spreads on the parchment, bearing just one word.

 _Sorry_.

Severus crunches the paper in his fist and casts a cleaning charm over the blanket, which smells of Potter’s cologne.

*

“I’m leaving.” Potter tucks into his toast at breakfast and avoids Severus’ eyes. “Shacklebolt called this morning.”

“Oh?” Severus feigns polite indifference and ignores the flash of anger which pulses through his veins. How like Potter to insinuate himself so gracelessly in Severus’ life only to leave when it all became too difficult. “There are problems at the Ministry?”

“Not the Ministry.” Potter winces, and he pushes his plate to one side. “America, of all places. Some new Voldemort.”

“And is _America_ not well equipped to find its own battles without intervention from an eighteen year old _child_?”

“I’m not a child.” Potter stares at Severus, as if he’s seeing him for the first time. “Besides, I’m nineteen now.”

“The arrogance of youth,” Severus murmurs. He wonders when Potter turned nineteen, and how he missed it. He stabs his fork into his bacon and cuts viciously, the news of Potter’s imminent departure leaving a sour taste. “You are sure you are ready?”

Potter doesn’t look convinced, and he lifts his shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “As I’ll ever be.”

Severus pushes his plate to one side as the bacon sticks uncomfortably in his throat. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.” Potter pauses as if he wants to say something more, his fingers brushing against Severus’ arm.

“When will you be back?” Severus focuses on his plate, an all too familiar fluttering in his chest betraying him. It’s been too long, and the very last thing he needs is Harry Potter knocking his carefully ordered life askew. He swallows and tries to ignore the way his skin burns and his body responds to the brush of Potter’s fingers against his arm.

“No idea.”

 _But you will be back?_ Severus wants to ask. Instead he says, “Perhaps when you return a coffee would be…acceptable.” 

Severus purses his lips when Potter lets out a crow of delight. “A _coffee_ , Potter.”

“I thought you didn’t like coffee?”

Severus fixes Potter with his coolest stare and tries to ignore the traitorous skip of his heart. “I don’t.”

*

Three weeks after Potter leaves, the _Prophet_ runs the story Severus has been dreading. He stares at the front page, quite sure the colour has drained from his face as the air in the room takes on an icy chill.

Rabastan Lestrange looks up from the front page, dressed in the kind of expensive frippery he used to wear prior to his incarceration at Azkaban. His lips curve into a dark smile, his eyes flashing as he laughs silently. Severus balls up the paper and lights it with a flick of his wand, spitting out the _Incendio_ followed by a swift _Aguamenti_ when the parchment on his desk goes up in flames.

His hands tremble and he shoves his wand into his robes, discarding the sodden parchment with a violent swipe of his hand.

“Severus.” 

“I do not wish to be disturbed.” Severus turns on his heel and glares at Minerva who peers at him calmly over the top of her glasses, the offending _Prophet_ clutched in her hand. 

“You cannot allow yourself to be affected by this woman’s foolish accusations.” Minerva’s eyes sweep the room, taking in the charred remnants of the newspaper and the pool of water gathered under Severus’ desk. “You cannot seriously believe--”

“And if there is truth in it?” Severus’ voice is loud and strangled. “If I _was_ foolish enough to-”

“To make a poor choice?” Minerva’s lips purse and she raises an eyebrow at Severus. “You were a child, Severus. These matters are never as simple as they appear to an outsider.”

“I was hardly a child. I was a _grown man_.” Severus spits out the words, his voice cracking. “I don’t want your pity.”

“And I do not intend to give you any, I simply wanted to assure you--”

“Get out,” Severus mumbles before Minerva can continue. When she persists he raises his hand and rounds on her, shouting furiously. “GET OUT!”

The door closes and the room stills.

Severus sits and drops his head forwards, trying to still the shaking in his hands.

*

“You never told me.” Potter stumbles through the Floo out of breath, his cheek streaked with mud. His boots are thick with snow and he stomps briefly on the hearth, giving Severus a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“You expect to me to share details of my every acquaintance with you?” Severus flicks his wand to clear away the mess made by Potter.

“ _We’re_ acquaintances.” Potter stares at Severus and his eyebrows raise. “You and Lestrange were--”

“Stop.” Severus holds up his hand with a growl. “I have no desire to discuss this with you. With _anybody_. My personal life is nobody’s business but my own.”

“And half of wizarding Britain’s, I’d say.” Potter brandishes a dog-eared copy of the _Prophet_. “It took me days to get this, otherwise I’d have come sooner.”

“There’s no need,” Severus replies, tightly. “It was a foolish error in judgment.”

Potter smooths out the paper and prods at one section which looks a little more crumpled than the rest. “Says here you were in love with him, once.”

Severus’ voice cools and he folds his arms across his chest. “After your experiences with Skeeter you choose to believe idle gossip? I might have known.”

“Doesn’t exactly answer the question.” Potter squares his shoulders. “I don’t care if you’re gay, you know.”

“What a relief.” Severus sneers at Potter, his cheeks suddenly uncomfortably hot. “How fortunate I am to have Harry Potter’s blessing. How _liberal_ the Aurors are these days.”

“Don’t be like that.” Stung, Potter drops the _Prophet_ into the bin. “I’m just saying I don’t care. I just wish you’d said, that’s all.”

Severus bites back a snarl and pours himself a whisky with shaking hands, not bothering to offer Potter anything to drink. “I expect you would have been a little more concerned about your public image, had you known. Late night visits from your former Professor – particularly one with proclivities such as my own – would have caused quite the scandal. They would have had you sectioned.”

“You were hardly there for _that_.” Confusion clouds Potter’s features and his eyebrows knit together. “Were you?”

Severus nearly chokes on his whisky, a furious ball of anger burning in the pit of his stomach. “How little you think of me. Do you imagine I would have been so taken with your nubile young body – not to mention your apathetic mental state – that I would be inclined to corrupt your innocence in such a manner?”

“My innocence?” Potter lets out a snort of laughter and he rubs his hand over his forehead. “Bloody hell. You can be a right prat, sometimes.” He nods at the whisky. “Do I get a glass?”

“No.” Severus’ lips press together. “You won’t be staying. I assume you have important Ministry business to attend to? If I wanted company, I would ask for it.”

“No you wouldn’t.” Potter stuffs his hands in his pockets and he glances at the Floo, dusky pink spots blooming in his cheeks. “Besides, I’m not needed in America at the moment.”

“Oh?” Severus studies Potter’s features, trying to read his sheepish expression.

“It’s not really…” Potter trails off and he shrugs, looking at the ground. “Not what I expected, I suppose. Or maybe I’m not what they expected.”

“Kingsley believed you were fit for the job, did he not?”

Potter shrugs again. “He was wrong.”

Severus lets out a quiet _harrumph_ and flicks his wand, sending a ginger beer in Potter’s direction.

“Sit. And try not to make a mess.”

*

“Can I stay?” Potter’s eyelids droop and he yawns widely, placing a perfunctory hand over his mouth.

“You cannot.” Severus glares at Potter, curled up on the sofa and burrowing down into the cushions. It amazes him how Potter can find comfort in the lumpy, too-small furnishings which have been part of his room for decades. “You could sleep anywhere.”

“You’d think,” Potter mumbles. He blinks and stifles another yawn. “It’s comfy here.”

Turning his eyes heavenward, Severus retrieves a blanket and places it on the end of the sofa. “Very well. I do not wish to be disturbed in the morning, it has been a long week. Some of us have been working – hard.”

“I’ve been working.” Potter sounds put-out in a sleepy, not really bothered sort of way. His lips curve into a smile. “Even when people didn’t want me too, I tried. It’s not easy fighting and stuff without sleeping.”

“They kept you working through the night?” Severus asks, hovering before going into his room.

“Something like that.” Potter waves a hand and the blanket finds its way into his hand, dipping briefly in mid-air. “Prof-Severus?”

“Hmm?” 

“Can we have coffee tomorrow?”

“I have already made it perfectly clear--”

“I know.” Potter pauses and his eyes open briefly, his eyes finding Severus in the flickering candlelight which casts long shadows over Potter’s cheeks. “You don’t like coffee. Or you pretend not to like it, because you don’t like me. Or something.”

“That is hardly--”

“So can we?” Potter’s eyes close again and he curls himself into a tight ball, his voice heavy with sleep. “You can have something else if you like.”

“How exceedingly generous of you, Potter.” Severus pushes open the door to his room and casts a final look back at Potter’s nearly-sleeping form. “Tomorrow is Saturday. I believe you know where to find me.”

“Yeah.” Potter’s lips twitch into a sleepy smile. “I do.”

When Severus wakes in the morning, there is no sign of Potter and the blanket has been neatly folded on the sofa.

Severus raises the blanket to his face and breathes in the familiar scent of Potter.

He contemplates casting a cleaning charm, before sending the blanket into his room and shaking his head firmly.

“The little twit will only be back again.”

Severus doesn’t allow himself to dwell for too long on the way his voice sounds almost…fond.

He settles himself at his desk and clears his mind by marking homework, taking several points from Gryffindor in the process.

*

“I like this place.” Potter’s eating ice-cream again, despite the fact the autumn rain beats against the windows of the small Muggle café. “They give you free flakes.”

“They give _you_ free flakes,” Severus corrects. He sips his coffee which was already waiting for him when he arrived, strong and piping hot. “They tell the rest of us to buy sandwiches.”

Potter laughs, and the sound is warm and open. “Thanks for letting me stay last night.”

Severus looks around the café to check for anyone bearing a passing resemblance to Skeeter who might choose to take Potter’s words out of context. “I trust you do not intend to make a habit of it?”

“No, of course not.” Potter doesn’t sound at all convincing. He takes a bite of his ice-cream cone. “Will you tell me about the thing with Lestrange?”

Severus tightens his hand around his coffee mug. “I can assure you, the details are far less…exotic…than Skeeter’s article might have suggested.”

“Exotic?” Potter furrows his brow. “You mean the stuff with the Dark Arts?”

“Yes.” Severus makes a mental note to send Skeeter something nasty in the post. “Her article simply demonstrates a woeful lack of understanding about the basics of Dark magic. She has, for example, completely misunderstood the interaction between--”

“I wasn’t asking about the technical stuff,” Potter interrupts. He gives Severus a look as if to say _I know what you’re doing_. “Were you…in love with him?”

“I was infatuated.” Severus grimaces and he avoids Potter’s inquisitive stare. “Does that answer your question?”

“A bit. Maybe.” Potter wipes his lips after finishing his ice-cream and starts on a piping hot mug of hot chocolate with an obscene mountain of cream and marshmallows on the top. “Have you always liked men?”

Severus winces and waves his hand to indicate Potter should move on. “That’s none of your business.”

“Why does it bother you so much?” Potter leans forward, and he lowers his voice. “You’re not the only one, you know.”

Severus looks up and meets Potter’s eyes for one charged moment. He pulls back and contemplates Potter, trying to regulate the hammering of his heart. His mouth dry, he traces his finger over his lips and composes himself. “I imagine not. It is not uncommon, it is simply not something I care to discuss with _anyone_.”

“Oh.” Potter deflates and he drums his fingers on the table. He’s restless and edgy, and Severus wonders if all of the sugar has gone to his head. “Was he the first?” Potter shakes his head and holds up his hand, before Severus can respond. “I mean, was he the only one? The only man.”

Severus pauses, noticing how Potter seems to be holding his breath. Eventually, he shakes his head. “No.”

“I suppose you know a bit about what you’re doing then.” Potter’s cheeks flush and he ducks his head. “If you know what I mean.”

“I think your hot chocolate knows what you mean, Potter – you have all the subtleties of a drunk Hippogriff.” Severus rolls his eyes and gestures for another coffee. “I have some idea. Now I suggest we change the subject.”

“Do we have to?” Potter looks pleadingly at Severus, but he refuses to fall for that trick again. 

“If you ever wish to accompany me for coffee again, we do.”

Potter opens his mouth, closes it again and, mercifully, remains silent.

*

“What do you intend to do now you’re no longer needed in America?” The sun sets on the day, and the coffee shop turns into something of an impromptu bar with Muggle city workers drinking expensive glasses of crisp white wine, accompanied by boards filled with ham and cheese. Potter orders a small glass of rich red wine, looking less than enthused by the taste as he takes a couple of careful sips.

“I’m going to come back to Hogwarts.” Potter raises his eyes. “For good, this time. McGonagall thinks it’s for the best, and Kingsley agrees. I’m not ready to fight another war. Not yet. There’s some stuff I’ve got to work out first.”

“And when you work out this _stuff_ , do you intend to move on again to different climes?” Severus feigns indifference, ordering another glass of red wine for himself and a ginger beer for Potter who casts him a grateful smile.

“Depends.”

“On?”

Potter fishes the ice out of his ginger beer and puts it in his mouth, biting down on it with a crunch. The pause stretches between them until the ice melts and Potter can speak again. 

“On whether there’s a reason to stay.”

Severus sips his wine, and changes the subject.

*

“I’ve got to go back to St Mungo’s.” Potter kicks off his shoes and tucks his feet underneath him on the sofa, speaking casually as if commenting on the weather.

Severus stares, because the thought of Potter being anywhere other than Hogwarts has become unthinkable. Their unspoken routine is something he has started to look forward to, not that he would ever admit as much to Potter.

“I wasn’t aware you were still having difficulties.”

“Just for the day. They want to check how I’m doing.” Potter taps his head. “Up here.”

“I see.” Severus frowns at Potter. “How do you feel?”

“Fine, some days.” Potter wraps the blanket Severus has started to think of as _Harry’s_ over his legs. “Other days it’s harder. I’m never going to be perfect.”

“Who is?” Severus resists the urge to tuck the blanket more carefully around Potter. “You appear more settled.”

“I can sleep here.” Potter looks away and doesn’t meet Severus’ eyes. “It’s not good though. You’re not going to be around forever.”

Severus snorts. “I may not be nineteen years of age--”

“Twenty,” Potter corrects.

“Twenty.” Severus wonders when another birthday passed him by and why Potter doesn’t celebrate another birthday with the usual fanfare he expects of people Potter’s age. “But I’m not dead yet.”

“I didn’t mean you’re going to _die_.” Potter snorts with laughter and he turns his gaze on Severus, his eyes shining with mirth. “Are you always so morbid?”

“Frequently,” Severus assures him.

“Okay then.” Potter laughs and shakes his head. “I just mean I can’t keep doing this. It’s an inconvenience.”

“Indeed.” Severus tries to quell the sense of panic rising within him. “You know enough of me by now to know I am perfectly capable of speaking my mind. Rest assured, if something becomes _inconvenient_ I will have little issue with telling you as much.”

“Still.” Potter’s voice firms and he folds his hand in his lap. “You know I don’t really want to be friends, don’t you?”

“I wasn’t aware,” Severus replies, voice tight. A familiar sinking feeling churns his stomach and he swallows, thickly. “Has this simply been sport for you, Potter? A little challenge to amuse yourself, a place to sleep for the night to keep the nightmares away?

“No.” Potter sighs and his fingers creep closer to Severus, where his knuckles whiten with the force of clenching his fingers into a fist. “I hoped it could be more. I’ve wanted you for ages.”

The confession is so unexpected, Severus has to take a moment to compose himself. 

“And Miss Weasley?” It’s all he can do to keep his voice level.

“Nope. Only you.” Potter’s fingers brush against his own. “Why do you think I wanted to know so much about you and Lestrange?”

“Naturally, I had assumed it was because you are an impertinent brat incapable of keeping his curiosity in check.” Eventually, Severus turns to Potter whose cheeks are flushed pink. “Foolish boy.”

Potter’s lips twitch and he inclines his head in a strangely owlish gesture. “Yeah, probably.”

“You intend to speak to your Healer about…this?” Severus waves his hand, not sure precisely what _this_ is anymore.

“Not if you don’t want me to. Not by name, in any event. I have to talk to _someone_.” Potter’s voice is unsteady again, and he turns to stare at Severus. “You came to visit me every night when I was there.” Something uncertain and fleeting flickers behind Potter’s steady gaze. “When everyone thought I was broken. Why?”

“Do you believe you were broken?” Severus deflects the question neatly and turns it back on Potter.

“I think I still am.” Potter shrugs and he stares at his hands. “I’m not like china. I don’t just break and then get to be glued back together, good as new. There’s always going to be cracks. It’s like someone’s put me together as best as they can but there are bits missing. I’m not sure I’ll ever get them back.”

“No.” Despite himself, Severus brushes his fingers to Potter’s forehead, smoothing his hair from his face. His skin is hot beneath Severus’ fingers, his forehead almost feverish. “We all have those lines, to some extent. The ones that never heal.”

“Some run deeper than others.” Potter leans closer, his breath warm on Severus’ face. “Do you have them too?”

Severus sighs and looks at the clock, shifting away from Potter. “It is too late for this.”

“Can I stay?” Potter looks hopeful and Severus snorts softly. 

“On the sofa. I trust you won’t make a mess of the place.”

“Do I ever?” Potter curls up and tugs the blanket under his chin, watching as Severus makes his way into his bed chamber. “Do you think I’ll ever make it off the sofa?”

Severus’ hand pauses over the door handle, and a flash of warmth floods through his body. It’s madness to think this way about Harry Potter, and he closes his eyes to steady himself.

“I can make no promises.”

“Okay, then.” Potter sounds suspiciously cheerful, and Severus turns to him with a glare.

“No promises, Potter.”

“I know.” Potter yawns and his eyes flutter closed, his voice lazy with sleep. “Still, it’s better than a no.”

With a smile tugging at his lips, Severus opens the door to his room and goes to sleep with his skin still tingling from the warmth of Potter’s breath on his skin.

*

“It did not go well?”

“You could say that.” Potter steps through the Floo and Severus catches him as he stumbles. “They don’t think I should stay here anymore.”

Severus frowns at Potter. “You assured me our time together would be kept confidential.”

“I didn’t tell them anything about you. They think it’s someone else. Someone who isn’t at Hogwarts.” Potter shrugs, his expression despondent.

“They believe this is harmful to you?” Severus clenches his hands into fists, anger welling within him. He should have known, from Arthur’s first owl, that this was a mistake. He has never been one for fixing things. Everything Severus touches goes awry, and Potter is no exception.

“They think it’s a fantasy.” Potter looks up at last, and squares his jaw. “They think I’ve fallen in love with someone who can’t love me back because it isn’t real – because it never has to be real.”

Potter’s words catch Severus so utterly off guard, he is stunned into silence as the clock ticks past the seconds. 

“I believe you need a new Healer.” His voice is tight, and wavers as he eventually tries to speak. “This is foolish nonsense.”

“Is it?” Potter folds his arms and this time it’s he that puts the barrier between them. “You’re the one that said it was destructive. Maybe you were right. Perhaps I’m here because I expect it all to implode, in the end.”

Severus steels himself and studies Potter. “ _I_ was right? Am I to be believed when it comes to matters of the heart? You believe I am to be trusted over your own heart – your own instinct? Has fighting a war taught you nothing?”

“You’re not a battle to be won.” Potter looks at the floor. 

_Am I not?_

Severus doesn’t say it out loud. Instead he gestures to the door and turns his back on Potter in a gesture of dismissal.

“Very well. I suggest you leave.”

The door closes behind Potter with a soft click.

When Severus goes to sleep, he tries not to think of Harry’s blanket folded on the edge of the sofa while the embers in the fire burn away to nothing more than dust, and ash.

*

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I, however, was sleeping rather well until I was so rudely interrupted.” It’s a lie, but Severus doesn’t intend to let Potter know that. He turns over in bed, to find himself nose to nose with Potter. “If you are looking for your blanket, it’s on the sofa.”

“I wasn’t looking for the blanket you bloody idiot.” Potter’s breath smells sweet, like ginger beer and he perches on the edge of the bed. He holds his wand in his hand, as if ready to cast a quick defensive spell should he find himself on the receiving end of the hex. He stretches with a wince. “If I have to spend another night sleeping on that sofa, I’ll be back in St Mungo’s for back trouble, I don’t know about anything else. I don’t particularly like waking up with a spring in my arse.”

Severus bites back a smirk and arches an eyebrow at Potter. “Yet apparently it is the only place you are comfortable sleeping.”

“It’s because of _you_ , you pillock.” Potter rolls his eyes. “It could be the moon for all I care. I can sleep here because you make me feel safe. Because the room smells like ink, parchment and coffee – even though you claim to hate the stuff which I know is a total lie, by the way. There’s loads of books about all sorts of mad things, like using kneazle whiskers in Amortentia and--”

“I can assure you, if you attempt to use kneazle whiskers in Amortentia you will live to regret it.” Severus tugs Potter closer and gives him what he hopes is a stern look. “That potion should not be brewed without careful--”

“Oh for fucks sake!” With a groan, Harry moves over Severus, straddling him. “I’m not here for a potions lesson.”

“No?” Severus slides his hands over Harry’s thighs, taking in the warmth of his skin beneath the thick material of his jeans. “Yet you presume to accost me in the middle of the night when I was in the middle of a rather pleasant dream. You must be here for _something_.” He manages to keep his voice controlled, somehow, and pushes Harry off his lap onto his back. He brushes his lips to Harry’s ear and breathes in the now familiar scent of him, dipping his voice to a low, seductive purr. “Isn’t that so, Harry?”

“Yeah, I reckon.” Harry’s voice falters and he bites back a groan. “I’m not mad, you know.”

“I’m sure Skeeter will disagree.” Severus pauses in his motions having successfully unbuttoned Harry’s jeans, sliding his hand under Harry’s jumper to feel the heat of his skin against his palm. “Not to mention one or two others – your Healer, for example.”

“I’m not mad.” Harry shakes his head firmly, and arches into Severus’ touch. “Things went a bit haywire after the war, but I’m working on it. There aren’t as many pieces missing when I’m here – when I’m with you.”

“I’m not a substitute for whatever it is you need to find. I’m not an answer or a potion that can be consumed at will, and discarded when you feel strong enough to do so.” Severus inches his hand higher and Harry squirms onto the bed, his breathing coming more heavily than before.

“I know. I don’t mean that. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m nineteen--”

“Twenty,” Severus reminds Harry, brushing his lips against his ear again and tracing a damp line down Harry’s neck to his collarbone. 

Harry pulls back for a moment and gives Severus a look that is so fiercely determined, it takes Severus back to classroom battles and furious insults when Harry fought against letting Severus into his mind with every last breath. “I'm going to get better. Whether I do it alone or with you. I'm not going to fall apart if we bugger this up, you know. I don't want you with me because you feel responsible, or because you think--”

“Potter?” Severus kisses Harry's neck, just behind his ear. “Do you intend to remove this infernal jumper?”

“You do want me.” Harry visibly relaxes and his voice fills with laughter. He sits up to tug off his jumper, dropping it onto the floor and flopping back onto the bed, reaching for Severus. “I knew it. I bloody _knew_ it.”

“I’m not sure what gave you that impression.” Severus can’t be bothered to fight it anymore, even if falling for Harry Potter’s charms is nothing short of lunacy.

“There’s this.” Harry rocks against Severus, his hand slipping boldly beneath the sheets until he reaches his goal. He squeezes his fingers around Severus’ cock and murmurs a low curse. “Merlin.”

“Indeed.” Severus nips Harry’s neck and bats his hand away after one blissful moment. “Eager boy.”

“Not a boy.” Harry lets out a gasp when Severus nips at the spot on his neck again, his words husky with arousal. “Just Harry.”

“Very well.” Severus captures Harry’s lips in a fierce kiss which stops his protestations fairly rapidly.

He could get used to kissing Harry, Severus realises – which is undoubtedly a very dangerous thing indeed. Harry’s lips are plump and eager, his kisses full of fire and youth. 

“You’re a good kisser.” Harry sounds surprised, and Severus is minded to ask who he is being measured against. Instead, he kisses Harry again for good measure. He slides his hand into Harry’s jeans and pushes them down Harry’s thighs until they are removed with an awkward shuffle and a fair bit of kicking. “You’d better not send me back to the sofa after this.”

“I believe I can allow you to stay in my bed for one evening.” Severus heaves a put upon sigh, wrapping his fingers around Harry’s cock and stroking slowly enjoying the sounds his touch elicits. “Provided you keep your inane chatter to yourself in the morning.”

“Until you’ve had a coffee,” Harry says, his tone caught between breathy and accusing.

“Hmm.” Severus doesn’t have the heart to protest when Harry writhes beneath him, responding to his touch with gasps and low groans as he pushes into Severus’ fist. “Until then.”

“So you _do_ like it?” Harry’s words join together in a hurried, faltering sentence.

“Very much,” Severus admits, not entirely sure they’re talking about coffee anymore. He gives Harry another kiss and murmurs against his lips. “Do you intend to keep talking for the duration of the night?”

Harry’s response is more of an _nngh_ than actual words, which Severus considers to be progress. He pushes the duvet off the bed so he can see Harry completely – naked and exposed in the watery moonlight which traces his frame with its silvery fingers. 

“Better.” Severus moves down Harry’s body, tracing his fingers and tongue over every one of Harry’s scars. He’s surprised to find slim lines which gather in spider-web formations below Harry’s heart. He pauses and wonders at the haphazard etchings on Harry’s skin. He had expected Potter to be flawless – tanned, toned and unmarked. The slender lines snaking over his flesh make Harry seem more human than ever to Severus, and he takes his time over each blemish, running his tongue over each one until he reaches Harry’s stomach. 

“Please…” Harry’s plea falls from his lips which are plump, damp and parted. His neck arches and he tangles his hand in Severus’ hair, lost in his pleasure. “ _Please_.”

Severus wonders if there’s anything more beautiful than hearing Harry beg. He suspects not. He shakes the thought from his head and focuses on giving Harry every pleasure. He flicks his tongue over the tip of Harry’s cock, capturing the salty taste of Harry’s arousal on his lips. He takes Harry into his mouth and is rewarded with a low cry of appreciation. With a hum of pleasure, Severus sucks Harry into the back of his throat and works his tongue over his cock. He can feel every jerk and pulse of Harry inside his mouth, and the sheer pleasure of being so intimately connected with someone again makes his head spin. 

When Harry comes, Severus groans around him. He lets Harry’s orgasm overtake him, before shifting up next to Harry and tracing his fingers over the lines on Harry’s chest, raising an eyebrow when Harry meets his eyes.

“Not tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. Over coffee?” Harry sounds hopeful and Severus nods.

“Tomorrow, then. Or the day after.”

“Or even after that.” Harry’s face breaks into a broad smile. He captures Severus’ lips in his own and presses his hand between them. He pulls back from the kiss just enough to murmur against Severus’ lips. “Will you tell me how to do that? I want to know how to do that. What you just did. I want to do that to you.”

Despite his age it hadn’t occurred to Severus that for Harry this might be a first, and he nods. “I believe that would be acceptable.”

“Now?” Harry sounds eager and Severus shakes his head.

“Not now. Tomorrow.”

“Will we do that over coffee too?”

There’s laughter in Harry’s voice and Severus snorts. “Impertinent brat.”

“What now?” Harry’s hesitant, his fingers tracing maddening lines along the length of Severus’ cock.

Severus wraps his fingers around Harry’s and shows him how to move his hand just so. “Just this.”

“And then?” Harry’s breathless, his movements increasing in confidence.

Instead of responding, Severus captures Harry’s lips in a fierce kiss and hopes that for now, it’s response enough.

_~Fin~_


End file.
